


Let Them Know a Better Day

by girloficeandfire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girloficeandfire/pseuds/girloficeandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has lost herself in Alayne Stone...or so she thinks. Still, when an old acquaintance arrives in the Vale she has quite the tangle of "yes-no-maybe-I don't know" feelings...</p>
<p>(Originally a sansaxsandor LJ commentfic response to the prompt: "Since there are so many stories of Sansa seducing Sandor, I want Sansa to be the one with "a tangle of yes-no-maybe-I don't know feelings." Given the world she lives in, her own slightly deranged state of mind, and the ways and aims for which she has been raised... it just makes sense.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Them Know a Better Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whirly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirly/gifts).



> DISCLAIMER: Of course I own none of this and am just extrapolating on the wonderful world that GRRM has created :)

They arrived during the dinner hour on the second day of the storm.  
  
When the servant came to find Lord Petyr, he listened intently for a moment and then waved the man off. "Apparently I have some unexpected business to attend to," he announced. "Continue with your dinner. Alayne, daughter, would you accompany me?"  
  
She set down her fork and stood, placing her hand on her father's arm as he strode from the hall. "Is everything all right, father?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, yes. It is merely some wandering brothers of the faith, come to beg for food I'm sure. I thought you would do well to see how I handle them. We must help where we can in times like these, but it would not do to be too generous. You understand?"  
  
Alayne nodded. Her father had a kindly smile about his lips at the moment, but his eyes were as cold and empty as usual. She wondered if their visitors would see this as well.  
  
The group of men were all clothed in brown roughspun robes as befit their lot in life. There were ten of them, though two seemed in dire straits and were being carried by the biggest, a brother of six and a half feet at least. One of the weak was clinging to the large man's back, the other cradled like a baby in his arms. Though the large brother's face was hidden by a hood and the cloths wrapped around his face to keep him warm, Alayne could sense his frustration at being made to wait while the men suffered in his arms. When her father finally spoke she looked to him.  
  
"Brothers. You have had a long and difficult journey from the Quiet Isle, I'd wager. This storm should not be taken lightly. I will have my servants prepare quarters for you and bring you food. We can talk on the morrow, but I do suggest you stay here at the Gates of the Moon until the snow has abated. They could last as long as a sennight and I do not think you would be able to make it all the way back to Saltpans in this weather."  
  
"This is most gracious of you, my lord," spoke one of the brothers, apparently their leader of a sort. "Two of our men have need of a maester, I fear, but that, food and shelter is all we need for now."  
  
Lord Petyr nodded and beckoned to the servant who had fetched him from dinner. Alayne heard him mumble a few commands into the man's ear, and then her father's hand was on the small of her back as he said "I will call for you tomorrow morning after I have broken my fast." He guided her from the hall, but Alayne tossed one more curious glance at the brothers before she and Lord Petyr turned a corner and they were gone from sight.  
  
"I think you should stay in your chambers this evening, Alayne. I will send for you in the morning; we will break our fast together and you may sit with me when I talk with these brothers."  
  
"Yes, Father," Alayne said dutifully. Before they went their separate ways, her to her chambers and him to who knows where, Lord Petyr paused and brushed a tendril of auburn hair from her forehead. His fingers lingered just a little too long on her face, but this time he did not presume to press his lips to hers and it was all she could do to not sigh in relief.  
  
***  
  
The next morning the snow seemed to be falling even heavier than the two previous days. Lord Petyr sent for her quite early and Alayne was still rubbing sleep from her eyes when she arrived in his solar to break her fast. Her father's smile was a bright one, reaching up enough to crinkle the skin at the corners of his eyes, but the eyes themselves remained stoic. "I do love your beautiful hair, daughter, but some days I wish we still had the ability to hide its true color," he admitted.  
  
"I as well, father," Alayne said, and she meant it. Though her auburn hair was beautiful, it reminded her of Sansa Stark. Alayne Stone was supposed to have plain brown hair, hair that was easier to hide behind than these bright locks.  
  
"I have sent for the leader of the brothers. I cannot have you with me all day, but I wanted you to witness this discussion. The brothers will dine with us tonight, but other than that I would prefer you to avoid them unless I call for you. Is that understood?" Alayne nodded obediently. "Good girl."  
  
Lord Petyr's discussion with the brother was short and to the point. As expected the brothers had come to ask for food to bring back to the Quiet Isle. Winter had been raging for near two years now and their supplies were nearly gone, he told them, but he knew that the Vale had escaped most of the destruction caused by the war of the five kings and hoped that Lord Petyr had some food to spare.  
  
"I can give you mules to get you back to the Quiet Isle, and what you do with them once there means nothing to me. I can supply you with food for your return journey as well, but as you must know there are numerous families and servants in residence here at the Gates of the Moon. We do not know how long this winter will last, but the maesters say it cannot be but half over at most. I will give you what I can and no more, brother. Now let us go see about those mules."  
  
Alayne was sent back to her chambers until dinner and for most of the day she was alone, until afternoon when Randa came sweeping in, Mya stomping at her heels. "Such a to-do about these visiting brothers," Randa clucked as she plopped down on Alayne's bed.  
  
Mya's lip curled in distaste. "Lord Petyr is giving them some of our mules," she growled. "They'll die on the way back to the Quiet Isle...poor beasts." The words "my mules" were what Mya really meant, Alayne knew, but dared not say. As a bastard daughter and something next to a servant, Mya truly did not own anything...even a mule or two. Alayne knew how she felt.  
  
"I think my father is being too cautious. He will give them little and less, and they made such a difficult choice coming here. They risked their _lives_."  
  
"Oh Alayne, some days you are far too pious for me...though I was under the impression that you preferred the old gods, as often as you visit the godswood," Randa winked at her. "Now, what are you wearing to dinner? I'm thinking something quite low-cut might do to tempt these brothers."  
  
"Randa!" Alayne cried, scandalized. "These are men of the faith!"  
  
"They are still _men_ , Alayne. All men are."  
  
"Oh _please_ ," Mya snorted. "Did you see the one with cleft lip and the giant mole on his chin? I'd rather not believe he was a real man."  
  
Though they should not be talking like this, Alayne knew, the three of them still collapsed in giggles and wiled away the afternoon discussing whether any of the brothers could ever be thought of as handsome. "That big one's hiding something," Mya said thoughtfully. "I saw him last night and this morning and he won't push his hood back or remove the wrappings from his face. It's not _that_ cold in here."  
  
"He is quite large," Randa grinned. "I'm less interested in his face and more interested in what else he may be hiding under those robes of his." Alayne gasped and threw a pillow at her.  
  
"Out! Get out! You are too much!" she laughed. "I need to dress for dinner." Her friends left her and once alone, she sat breathlessly back on her bed and thought how Sansa Stark would never have listened or participated in such conversations as Alayne had with Randa and Mya.  
  
***  
  
The table was quite full with Alayne, Lord Petyr, the Royces, the brothers, and a few others present for dinner. Though she seldom had to speak, Alayne was for some reason quite uncomfortable. She could not get over the feeling that someone was watching her, though she never once caught anyone staring in her direction. The large brother with the hood was across the table and a half dozen seats down from where she sat, and he was the only one whose eyes she could not see. It made her uneasy but she dared not say anything to her father for fear that he would banish her to her chambers until such time as the brothers could leave the Gates of Moon. As the storm still raged outside, that could be many many days.  
  
***  
  
By the next morning Alayne was tired of being holed up inside. She went to her father and asked if she could please visit the godswood.  
  
"But daughter, the snow still falls quite heavily. And the cold..."  
  
"I will be fine, father. I am a child of the-"  
  
"Enough," he said sharply, looking around with concern though no one was there to hear what she had almost said. "You may go, of course, but dress warmly and be careful."  
  
"Thank you, father," she said with a curtsy, and rushed to her chambers to bundle into a warm woolen gown, boots and gloves and several heavy cloaks. Checking to make sure she was not followed, Alayne stepped out into the deep snow and trudged toward the grove of weirwood trees. Once she was among them the snow was not quite as prevalent - the trees were large and grew close together, so that even without leaves they kept much and more of the flakes from settling to the ground. She used her boot to brush most of the snow away from the roots of the biggest weirwood and knelt to pray. To pray for winter to end, for the brothers of the faith to reach the Quiet Isle safely, for her to remain safe. _Watch over me as you have so well for nearly two years now,_ she thought fervently. _Keep me protected, secure, sheltered._  
  
Suddenly, the snow stopped.  
  
It was not just the weirwoods that were keeping it from falling. It was the eye of the storm, Alayne knew, yet for it to find her at such a time...  
  
And then a hand gripped her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet.  
  
***  
  
Though the girl at Lord Petyr Baelish's side had often kept her head down and rarely spoken, he'd known her the moment he laid eyes on her. It was the hair, mainly, but also the girl did not carry herself like the bastard child she was supposed to be. The part of him that had been taught silence and penitence wanted to leave her be, but he could not keep his eyes off her now any more than he had all that time in King's Landing.  
  
When he saw her head out the door bundled against the cold and snow, he had to follow. He watched her kneel for many minutes, and when the snow stopped he saw her look up in surprise and wonder and she looked so like the beautiful girl he had known at the Red Keep that he could not stop himself from grabbing her arm. For a moment she looked frightened - but then she peered up into his hood and he knew she could see his eyes gleaming from beneath it. She reached up and pushed the hood back off his head, then gasped.  
  
"It's... _you_!" she whispered. She tried to take a step back but he kept a tight grip on her arm.  
  
"Aye, girl. You look like you've seen a ghost."  
  
"Well you _are_ supposed to be dead," she said.  
  
"And you are supposed to be married to the Imp, little bird, yet I do not see him hiding here with you."  
  
"I am no little bird," she murmured, and he could see the tears glistening in the corner of her eye. "I am Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish. I am unwed and a maiden... _ser_."  
  
He snorted at her and tightened his grip on her arm. "You are a little bird if I say you are a little bird. Now tell me your name, girl. Your _real_ name."  
  
"S...Sansa Stark," she finally replied.  
  
"That's better. Now how about you tell me what you're doing here, pretending to be some bastard girl...and failing miserably, I might add. Anyone who knows you would recognize you, especially with that hair. But also you carry yourself too proudly. Littlefinger should see that, at least."  
  
She touched her hair. "We used to dye it, but we ran out of the ingredients..." she said sadly. Sandor reached up and twirled a lock around his finger, swearing that he could feel her trembling.  
  
"You are not safe here, girl. But I could keep you safe. I told you as much once, and nothing has changed."  
  
***  
  
 _Is this what the gods have sent me?_ she wondered. It seemed far too coincidental otherwise; she prayed for safety and security and _he_ showed up and repeated his promise from so many years ago, his promise to keep her safe. She stared up at him and was surprised to find that it did not scare her anymore to look into his face. _Of course he does not scare you; you are Alayne Stone, and bastard brave._  
  
"We...we should not have this conversation here...in the open..." she heard herself stuttering. His laugh was a harsh bark.  
  
"Who is going to hear us, little bird? The trees? Everyone else is too sane to wander outside in this weather."  
  
She tried to struggle against his grip again, but this time he not only tightened it - he pulled her close to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to feel his breath on her face. "Think about my offer, girl. This winter won't last forever, and when it's over Littlefinger won't be able to keep prying eyes off you for very long."  
  
Alayne could not help herself; her eyes were drawn to his lips, focused on the scarred side, which was twitching - though not quite so madly as she had seen it do in the past. Before she knew it she was reaching up with her free hand and brushing her fingertips over the ridges at the edge of his mouth and then suddenly he shoved her hand away and bent to kiss her, crushing his lips to hers, and though she was not sure if she wanted this she let him do it, trying to remember what it had felt like the night of the battle of Blackwater Bay. Sansa had been afraid of this man, of his scars and his strength, his words and his kiss, but Alayne refused to let him scare her. The kiss was rough, harsh, not sweet at all, yet it made her heart flutter all the same and when he flicked his tongue over her lips they opened automatically. His tongue stroked hers and she responded even though she was not quite sure what she was doing - but then he abruptly pulled away and held her at arm's length.  
  
"I will give you until tomorrow night. If we are to go we will need to do so as soon as the storm abates, and before that I will need to find a way to supply us for the journey. Do not seek me out; I will come to you for your answer."  
  
The Hound turned and strode off through the trees, and Alayne was alone with her thoughts, her gods, and her answered prayer.  
  
***  
  
He would take her, if she'd let him. He would keep her safe as he promised, from others. But this time he would not leave his desires unfulfilled - he'd had enough of that after he'd left her in King's Landing that night, as pure and untouched as she had ever been. _Alayne Stone may be an unwed maiden, but Sansa Stark is certainly no longer pure or untouched, now that she's been married. And she kissed me back._  
  
***  
  
Alayne did not know what to do. She hid in her chambers for the rest of the day after her encounter in the godswood; she even took her dinner in them, keeping her father and her friends away with hints that she had her moon blood. She tossed and turned that night, wondering exactly when the Hound would come for her decision, wondering what that decision would be. She was no longer silly enough to believe that she was safe here, not with Lord Petyr's kisses and Randa's constant questions, but after the Hound had kissed her just so she was sure she would not quite be safe with him, either. The true question was, which danger was worse? As soon as winter was over her father would have her maidenhood proved and marry her off to Harry the Heir, yet she knew he would not let her go quite that easily. And so long as any Lannister was alive, she would continue to have nightmares about them coming for her, one after the other, Tyrion deranged with anger that she could set him aside when he had been so kind to her, Jaime with sword in hand to cut down everyone and bring her back to Cersei, Cersei, the most wicked woman Sansa had ever known...  
  
On the other hand, there was going with the Hound and knowing that sooner rather than later he would take her, take her as she knew he'd meant to the night of the Blackwater. She could fight against it, she could cry, but he would have her all the same - if he wanted her.  
  
And she knew he wanted her.  
  
Still, maybe she could stave him off...at least for a little while. Maybe he could take her... _Where?_ Certainly not to Winterfell, still in ruins and those buried in drifts of Northern snow that would shame the ones here in the Vale. To the free cities, perhaps, to wait out the winter, maybe to chase these tales of dragons she so often heard. Sansa would not like that, dragons being huge scary nasty beasts, but Alayne would not be afraid...only he wanted her to be Sansa Stark, his little bird...that name and that history that she had tried so hard to forget...  
  
The next day Alayne had to leave her chambers, but only once did she catch sight of the brothers of the faith, sitting by the hearth in the main hall and speaking with Mya about the mules they were to take. Alayne hastened to leave the room as soon as she saw that the Hound was standing at the edge of the group, but before she could do so he looked up and she could see his eyes gleaming at her from beneath his hood. _He will come for me tonight_ , she thought, _and I must go with him._ She knew it then, knew it more than she had ever known anything. She did not want the lecherous Harry the Heir as her husband, was tired of suffering her false father's gropes and kisses, and she simply could not hide in the Vale forever.  
  
She returned to her chambers to pack some of her things.  
  
***  
  
The girl was hiding from him, but she must know that he would come for her no matter what. Sandor was still undecided as to whether he would take her from here even if she said no. She had always been a silly little bird who didn't know what was best for her, he told himself.  
  
Littlefinger was still playing the gracious host, inviting the brothers to dine with himself and the Royces, but Sansa had not been there the night before. Of course the other brothers did not think to question her absence, but Sandor noted it and told himself that two could play at this game. She was obviously not too ill, as he'd seen her looking hale and healthy when she stumbled upon them in the main hall that afternoon, but he decided that rather than go to dinner he would search her out. He spread the tale that he would be spending the evening in the sept; the eye of the storm had passed and he knew that no one else would want to trek across the yards to pray that night, even his godsworn brothers. As soon as they all disappeared into the hall for the meal he made his way to her chambers, but was surprised to find them empty - apparently she _had_ gone to dinner. No matter.  
  
He sat down on the edge of her bed to wait.  
  
***  
  
She went to dinner that night, expecting that he would be there, that maybe he would pull her aside on some pretense and she could tell him that she had made her decision...but he was not present, and when her father asked after the large, silent brother their leader piped up that he had gone to the sept to pray.  
  
"A devout man, to brave this snow merely to kneel before the Seven in our sept," Lord Petyr drawled, and Alayne swore that she could feel his eyes boring into her as she forced down her stew. _He can't know, he can't, even I was not sure until I saw his face, I who knew more about him than anyone..._ Still, she forced herself to play her part that evening, finishing all of her food, drinking a glass of wine with her father and the brothers, posing inane questions about the Quiet Isle and their work there. It was quite late when her father sent her to bed, and she had drank three more glasses of wine. Her head felt light and hot as she made her way to her chambers, wondering if the Hound had decided not to take her with him after all...  
  
Her chambers were dark and she stumbled to the hearth, cursing under her breath as Alayne was wont to do. The fire that had been leaping merrily when she had left for dinner was mere embers, but she stoked it and added some kindling and soon it was growing again. She still felt too hot from the wine so she unlaced her gown deftly, and as she turned toward her bed she pulled it over her head, tossing it to the floor before laying down on the mattress with a groan of relief.  
  
"Don't get too comfortable, little bird. You still need to give me your answer."  
  
Her eyes popped open. He was sitting on the other edge of the bed, but turned in her direction. Her heart beat madly in her chest as she stuttered, "You...you should have made your presence known!" and struggled to bury herself in the blankets. Her shift was a small, wispy thing...she might as well be naked in front of him and he would not look away.  
  
"And spare myself your little show, just now?" he asked, laughing darkly. "I think not. Cursing, building your own fire, tossing your discarded clothing on the floor...maybe you are more the bastard Alayne Stone than I thought, girl."  
  
She sat up, her right hand balled into a little fist, and punched his shoulder as hard as she could manage. "Do not _mock_ me," she whispered fiercely. "And keep your voice down...I swear these walls have ears."  
  
Suddenly he grabbed her fist, crushing it in his hand, using it as leverage to swing his legs onto the bed. He pushed her back and pinned her beneath him. "Such a brave little bird," he rasped. "Don't you know that when you hit a dog, he's liable to bite?" She opened her mouth to protest but he covered it with his own, kissing her even more fiercely than he had the day before in the godswood. His weight was pressing her down into the mattress and she could feel his stiff member against her upper thigh. She was panicking, beating at him with her free hand, but this only made him kiss her harder and for a moment she lost herself. It was as if the heat from the wine was slowly seeping throughout her entire body, but the majority of it was pooling below her belly and as much as she knew this needed to stop, the thought of letting him have her flitted through her mind...  
  


And then he broke the kiss to pull off his robe and she turned her head away from him and said, "I _can't_ ," but he threw his brother's raiment to the side and pulled her face back toward him and kissed her again, pinning her hands down when she tried to push him away and using his other hand to unlace his breeches. He withdrew his manhood from them and moved on top of her, pressing himself into her thigh in a way that made her ache to know what would happen next, even as she continued to struggle and think _if this happens I'll have no choice, I'll have to go with him, stay with him, hide with him, and though he may keep me safe I will never be able to return to the things I've loved..._ Arya's face flashed before her, Arya who hated the Hound; she saw Jon Snow full of righteous anger; her dream of rebuilding Winterfell dissolved in front of her and yet her body was betraying her for even as she writhed underneath him in a vain attempt to escape she felt a tingling in her woman's place and when his chest brushed her nipples they budded stiffly and she arched toward him.

***

He was no fool; he knew she wanted him to stop. But now that he'd come this far he meant to see this thing through. The Imp had had her, after all, so why not him as well? It wouldn't make any change in her situation and he knew she couldn't have decided to come with him, anyway. And then even as she beat at him and tried to push him away, her tongue was moving against his and her nipples were aroused and when he pressed himself into her cunt she was wet and that was all the encouragement he needed.

***

It felt just as Randa had described it, the wanting, and probably Alayne Stone with her bastard's lack of morals would succumb to it but Sansa Stark could not. Her maidenhead meant a good marriage and the chance to return to Winterfell, and she mustn't - she _mustn't_ -

Suddenly his stiff member was pressed against her folds and he grunted, pulling away just long enough for her to moan, "No, _please_ ," but he pressed a hand over her mouth and said, "Don't play games with me, girl. Physically you want this, I'm experienced enough to know that. Would you rather it be Littlefinger here with you now? Or is it me you want?"

Alayne - no, Sansa now, Sansa - could not help herself. She mouthed the word, "you" into his hand, even as her mind was screaming _this is_ not _how it is supposed to be, just because you dreamt of his kiss all these years does not make this_ right...

And then the tip of him brushed at her folds again and she shuddered with something that bordered on both need and fear and when he thrust into her she screamed, the noise muffled by his hand but as harsh and raw as the pain that bloomed inside of her as he broke her maidenhead.

***

He could sense her inner turmoil but rather than bother to wait it out, the moment he felt her mouth the word "you" against his hand he took her. Though her scream was quieted substantially by his hand he realized that he felt sorry, suddenly, for what he was doing...but she was so very tight around him and he forced himself to move slowly, slowly, and he placed his free hand between her legs and flicked at her nub and she stared up at him, her eyes wide and veiled with...with what? Pain? Lust? He was so wild for her that he could not tell, except that suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head and he pinched her nub between his thumb and forefinger as he pushed into her and she clenched around him and shuddered from head to toe, her sigh a hot breath on the hand that still covered her mouth.

***

It hurt when he entered her, yes, but after a few long moments his gentleness made it less burning and more aching. Still, when he reached down and touched the spot that she used to please herself when she woke sweating and wanting from her dreams of handsome knights coming to rescue her, she was shocked at how strong and sudden her need became. When he looked into her eyes she saw his lust and desire but also his utter openness and devotion and when he gently pushed into her, pinching her nub at the same time, a rush of pleasure exploded in her belly. Her entire body shook with it and she knew she had never experienced something so beautiful, except maybe for when her eyes found his again and he moaned her name, not his mocking nickname for her or the fake name she'd hidden behind for so long, but her name, her name, "Sansa, Sansa..." and she hated herself for not being able to fight him off and hated him for what he'd taken from her but she loved him then also, loved him because he wanted her and loved him because he could protect her.

***

He had to force himself to pull away from her after he had finished and when he did he realized that there was something wrong. In the flickering light of the fire he could see a dark stain on the sheet below them and suddenly he realized what he'd done. "Seven hells!" he swore, a bit too loudly. The girl was struggling to cover up herself and the evidence of what he'd done, but he stopped her, ripping the blankets back and causing her to scoot away from him.

"I...I tried to tell you..." she whispered, and though he felt shamed he could not control the words that spilled from his mouth.

"Didn't try too hard then, did you? I'd say I was sorry but here's the truth: better that it happened now than when I meant for it to happen that night in Maegor's Holdfast. And now that I know where you are I can stay away. You need never see me again." He stood and began dressing quickly, but the little bird's chirp stopped him.

"What do you mean, 'never see you again'?" she asked incredulously. "You said you would take me away from here. You promised to keep me safe."

He scoffed at her. "Do you see my version of keeping you safe, girl?"

She looked away but he could see the tears that began falling down her cheeks. "You shouldn't have done that. I...I didn't really want it, or rather I wasn't ready for it...but now I'm not a maiden and staying here with Lord Petyr will be far worse than going somewhere with you. So will you take me as planned, or leave me here to rot?"

_This girl will be my undoing,_ he thought, but then he realized that he had already been hers. "I'll come for you when the storm is done," he promised tersely, and he left her to clean up the mess they'd made.


End file.
